


You Sure Know How to Pick 'Em

by Kacka



Series: Kacka Does a Thing [13]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 08:48:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10082105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kacka/pseuds/Kacka
Summary: Murphy likes Clarke, but he doesn't think much of her taste in significant others.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, anonymous, for the prompt! I hope you like it :)

“Will it help at all if I ask you to be nice?”

Murphy gives her his best sardonic expression. “When am I ever not, Princess?”

“I’m never gonna live that nickname down,” she grumbles, drumming her fingers on the table anxiously. “I should have waited until Wells could be here. Then at least I’d have someone I knew I could count on to be personable.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea. Wells and I are a volatile combination on our own; why not add your new boyfriend to the mix? Trial by fire is a thing, right?”

Wells is Clarke’s best friend from childhood, and he’s never been Murphy’s biggest fan. Nor vice versa. Things might have been different if his dad wasn’t the guy who’d pressed charges and put Murphy in juvie. If Murphy didn’t see Jaha prime every time he looked at junior, if junior didn’t see a delinquent every time he looked at Murphy. But their personalities differ enough that Murphy isn't convinced it's only his past that dampens what Clarke wishes would be a budding friendship.

They do okay sometimes, but she usually ends up keeping them separate.

“Not my preferred tactic,” she shoots back, but her tension has deflated a bit. “Seriously, though. How worried should I be that you’ll start a bar fight tonight?”

“How worried should I be that your new boyfriend is a dick?" She gives him a look and he rolls his eyes. "I promise I will at least attempt this thing you call good behavior.”

“That’s all I ask,” she says, cracking a smile. “There might even be a gold star in it for you.”

“Shut up, Princess.”

He wanders over to the bar, fixing himself another drink while Gina is busy with some patrons. By the time he gets back to the booth, there’s a guy with floppy brown hair with his arm around Clarke. She’s not pulling away or anything, so Murphy figures this must be the boyfriend. He looks exactly like someone Murphy would ignore on the street trying to get him to donate to whales or Greenpeace or some shit like that, but hey. Maybe that does it for her. 

“Here you go,” he says to announce his presence, sliding her drink across the table.

“Cider?”

“Yeah.” He eyes the boyfriend, who is clearly sizing him up. “Sorry, man. Didn’t know what you liked.”

“Nah, it’s cool. I don’t really drink.” He extends the hand not resting on Clarke’s shoulder. “I’m Finn.”

“So I hear. Murphy.”

"Murphy?"

He shrugs. "John's a popular name. My teachers called me that and it stuck."

“Makes sense. It's nice to meet you.”

“Likewise, I’m sure,” Murphy says, and Clarke kicks him under the table. Presumably for the sarcastic edge to his voice, which-- Yeah, he probably deserved that. “You look really familiar,” he tells-- what was his name? Murphy has already forgotten. “You ever come in here before?”

“Not really,” he says, looking around as if to make sure. “Why, you in here a lot?”

“I work here.”

“Really?”

“It’s where I met the Princess.” 

“Princess, huh?” Greenpeace smiles down at Clarke, who laughs uncomfortably. “I didn’t know I was dating royalty.”

Murphy wants to retch, he really does, and he doesn’t know how she can stomach it but she just laughs and says, “I’m the current record holder for most pickleback shots in one sitting, and apparently drunk me made Gina hold a coronation to make it official.”

She had, and it was hilarious. 

She’d dumped a basket of fries out on the bar and balanced it on her head like a crown. Murphy still has the pictures on his phone. He also has vivid memories of holding Clarke’s hair back while she vomited in the alley afterwards, and he remembers it all as the night he resigned himself to thinking of her not as a regular patron, but as a friend.

Greenpeace, for his part, laughs like he doesn’t know what else to really do. 

“Well, I like the nickname,” he says, squeezing Clarke’s shoulder. “Maybe I’ll have to start using it, Princess.”

She doesn't protest, and that in itself rubs Murphy the wrong way. If she was comfortable around him, she wouldn't think twice about giving him a piece of her mind. Clarke Griffin is not a woman easily cowed.

Case in point, when Greenpeace excuses himself to go to the bathroom, Clarke crosses her arms and juts her chin out. “Okay, so spit it out. What do you think?”

Murphy hesitates for about one second, but he’s never been much for keeping his mouth shut.  “I don’t like him.”

“You don’t like anybody.”

“So it shouldn’t bother you much, then. I’m sure if he keeps coming around, I’ll get used to it.” He pauses. “You like him?”

“We haven’t been dating that long, but so far, yeah. I like him.”

“Then I guess I hope it works out for you.”

“You guess?” She asks, raising one eyebrow.

He does roll his eyes now, big enough he knows she can’t have missed it. “Yes. I hope you get good and laid.”

“Thanks. Thank you.”

“Maybe you can get the stick out of his ass while you’re at it.”

“Shut up,” she says, but he can tell she’s fighting a smile.

“Honestly, the sex would have to be good, to put up with his personality.”

“Screw you, I like his personality.”

“Then screw him, not me.”

“Do I need to kick you again?” She laughs, giving him a subtle rude gesture. "Shut up, he’s coming back over.”

Murphy mimes zipping and locking his lips, nodding to Greenpeace when he sits back down.

“What’s so funny?” He asks, looking between a still-laughing Clarke and Murphy, who has arranged his face to go carefully blank.

“Nothing at all,” he says, shaking his head. “Not a damn thing.”

* * *

“So... I met someone.”

Instantly, Raven’s eyes snap to Murphy’s to exchange a dubious look. 

Ever since the Finn thing went up in flames, they’ve become more of a  _ group _ . Murphy is glad Clarke kept Raven, she’s lightyears better than the cheating bowl of bland noodles who had been two-timing them. Weirdly, because it's rare that they agree upon anything, Wells really likes her too. It might be the MIT degree, it might be that she’s model-hot, it might be that she’s never been in jail, but Wells has taken to Raven in a way that he never did with Murphy.

(Although it must be said, things between them have gotten a little easier since Raven offhandedly mentioned that someone let the air out of Finn’s tires. Murphy never took credit but Wells seems to know anyway.)

“You met someone,” he repeats slowly.

“The new girl at work, actually.” Clarke has her feet flung over one arm of the chair and her eyes on her phone, actively trying to seem more laid back about it than she is. But Clarke Griffin doesn’t know how to be chill about anything, so none of them are buying it.

“Uh-oh,” Raven snorts. “I already smell trouble.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I love you, but you have terrible taste in romantic partners,” she says, reaching out to pat Clarke’s dangling foot patronizingly.

She’s not wrong. Finn didn’t end well (and if you ask Murphy, wasn’t that great in the middle either), and somehow, every Tinder date Clarke has been on has been disastrous, to say the least. 

There was a girl named Anya who took Clarke hiking, though it looked more like the two of them had been mud wrestling. Then there was Roan, who was promising since his background was so similar to Clarke’s-- rich family, somewhat estranged from his mother, general grumpy personality. But then he’d spent the whole night talking about what to do in the event of being kidnapped, which is a red flag even for Clarke. After that had been Smarmy Cage, and to everyone’s relief, Clarke had seemed to give up altogether.

“I’ve had a bad run,” she defends herself, petulant. “But I like Lexa.”

“So invite her to game night,” Wells suggests, always the practical, supportive one. “It’s a chance to get to know her better outside of work without all the pressure of a date.”

“Plus, then we get to meet and judge her,” Murphy points out, tipping his water. “Which is our favorite group activity.”

“It’s really what brings us together,” Clarke agrees, looking sold on the idea.

Come Friday, however, she texts the group:  _ Sorry guys but I’m bailing on game night. _

_ Everything okay? _ Wells asks immediately.

Raven follows up with,  _ Yeah, I thought you were inviting your eye candy. _

And that’s the nice part about having a group, Murphy decides. The two of them can do the concerned friend thing, and Murphy can reap the benefits of knowing what’s up without having to do the feelings part himself. Everybody wins. 

_ I did,  _ Clarke texts back. _ And she asked me out! So we’re gonna do dinner and some foreign film instead. If it goes well, I’ll bring her to the next one. Have fun without me! _

The thing is, she and Lexa don’t make it to the next one. Or the one after that. Or any of their group events. If they see Clarke at all, it’s because Lexa has other plans, has to work late, has some excuse not to join them. 

Which basically feeds Murphy’s perma-bitter personality.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were  _ jealous, _ ” Raven teases, and Murphy throws a peanut at her.

“Dude,” Gina complains.

“Sorry,” he grunts, leaning down to pick it up. He might be an asshole, but he doesn’t usually make service jobs harder if he can help it. Especially not for his manager, who can make his schedule a living hell.

“He’s not overreacting,” Wells says, which is astounding enough Murphy almost drops the peanut again. “Clarke isn’t usually the type to disappear into a relationship like this.”

“Maybe she’s just more serious about Lexa than she was about Finn,” Gina offers. 

Raven makes the face she always makes when they reference her ex, the one that looks like her mind is caught somewhere between regret and figuring out how to build a murder robot that won’t implicate her in Finn’s death. Murphy makes a mental note to tell her about Black Mirror.

“Maybe,” Wells says dubiously. “But isn’t that all the more reason to bring her around to meet her friends?”

The whole thing feels shifty to Murphy, and though he’s learned to trust his gut over the years, he’s also aware that most other people don’t. Trust his gut, that is. So he doesn’t say anything.

“Speaking of meeting friends,” Gina says, her eyes brightening as a couple comes through the door. Murphy glances over his shoulder to see the dude nudge the girl and lead her over to where they’re sitting. “Guys, this is my friend Bellamy and his sister Octavia.”

“Funny story, but we’ve actually met,” Raven laughs, nodding at the newcomers. Bellamy’s eyebrows lift in surprise, and then he smirks.

“Small world. Raven, right?”

“I’m impressed,” she says, smirking right back at him. “I wasn’t even sure we’d gotten around to exchanging names, no offense.”

“None taken,” he says easily, and his sister makes a face that mimics exactly what Murphy is feeling.

“Gross,” she says. “I don’t want details. But I do want a drink.”

“You’re not even twenty one,” he says in exasperation, and Murphy rolls his eyes. When the brother isn’t looking, he slides Octavia his beer and reaches across the counter to pour himself another. She smiles predatorily and raises the glass to him in thanks.

"How do you know Gina?" Jaha asks, ever the polite one.

"We used to date in college," Bellamy says easily. "I just moved to the area--"

"Because I'm here," Octavia puts in. Her brother rolls his eyes good-naturedly but doesn't contradict her. "But my friend group is mostly work people and introducing them to Bell would be like introducing them to my  _dad_. Only embarrassment could come of it."

"So you hit that?" Raven asks Gina, smirking. She smiles back and obliges Raven with a high-five. Wells looks slightly scandalized and a little jealous, and Murphy hides his smirk in his drink.

"I told them I'd introduce them to you guys," Gina says, leaning on the bar. "But if they decide to keep coming back, I claim no responsibility for you assholes."

"Fair enough." Murphy drains the rest of his glass. "Who wants to get their asses kicked at darts?"

Bellamy finishes his as well, sizing Murphy up. "I could play a round."

"I'm in too," Raven says, turning to slide off her stool. "And I want Octavia on my team."

The younger girl smirks, looking for a moment very much like her older brother. "Let's do this."

And just like that, his friend  _ group _ is upgraded to a social  _ circle _ . Though he never would have sought for it to happen, he doesn’t resist the change either. He likes Gina well enough, Octavia is a terrifying badass, and Bellamy-- Well, he’s the kind of person whose personality is based on mockery and bitterness, which is a worldview Murphy shares.

What’s strangest is that Clarke is nowhere to be seen most of the time. For so long, she was the central point that held these individual friendships together. It’s unsettling that she isn’t around these days, that he sees Bellamy and Octavia and Gina more than he does the person he’s called a friend the longest.

Which makes it all the more weird when she just shows up one Friday night at the bar.

She’s already there by the time Murphy comes in for his shift, looking upset and uncomfortable as she stares down into her drink.

“Look who decided to grace us with her presence,” he snarks, swiping her glass to refill it.

“Hey,” she says, smiling tiredly. It doesn’t reach her eyes. “I was hoping I’d find you here.”

“I’m not the one who’s been AWOL, Princess. You need anything else?”

She slumps, dejected. “No, I’m good for now.”

He nods once. “We’re pretty busy, so holler if you need something.”

He’s not  _ avoiding _ Clarke for the bulk of the night. They really are swamped. But normally he’d screw up a drink every now and then to comp it for her, or gripe with her as he mixes. Not tonight, though. Tonight, she gets a taste of her own medicine.

Let it never be said that John Murphy doesn’t hold a grudge.

He’s ignoring Clarke so hard, he doesn’t immediately notice when Bellamy shows up, dropping into the seat next to her. That’s where their friends sit most of the time. It’s only natural they’d both gravitate to the same spot at the bar.

And, of course, because they are both belligerent personalities, it’s only natural they get into a bickering match the likes of which Murphy has never seen.

Clarke is drunk and loud, Bellamy matching her fire because he’s incapable of backing down from a confrontation, and the other patrons have started to complain. 

When Murphy makes his way over, he’s both surprised and not at all surprised to find that they're literally yelling about Jane Austen and the Bronte sisters . It makes complete sense. As hot as they are, they’re both some of the biggest nerds Murphy has ever met. He maybe needs to get cooler friends.

“You guys need to take this outside?” He says, interrupting Bellamy’s ranting. He immediately looks sheepish.

“Nah. Sorry, man.”

“Too scared to fight me?” Clarke says, jabbing a finger at Bellamy, who looks both like he wants to laugh and like he wants to snap at her again. Murphy jumps in before he has the chance.

“You’re done, Princess.” She turns to him with a hurt expression, but he keeps his mask firmly in place. “Go home, Clarke. You need me to call Lexa? Or Wells? Or an Uber?”

“She can share mine,” Bellamy offers, studying Clarke with newfound interest. Likely piecing together all the references to her they’ve made and the reality of her sitting before him.

“Thanks, that’d be great. I can help you get her outside.”

“I’m not sharing a ride with some random dick,” Clarke scoffs, falling into Murphy as he slips her arm over his shoulder and starts to walk her out.

“He’s not a random dick,” Murphy mutters. “He’s a specific dick. He and his sister have started hanging out. Which is more than I can say for you.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, mournful, leaning her head on Murphy’s shoulder. “I’m the dick.”

“We can both be dicks,” Bellamy says fairly. Clarke ignores him.

“If it makes you feel better, Lexa was a dick to me.”

“You know, that does kind of make me feel better.”

She laughs once, sharp. “You’re a dick too.”

“Yeah, but we all knew that already.” He passes her to Bellamy and her head immediately finds his chest, her eyes slipping closed. Bellamy looks down at her in mild alarm. “I owe you one,” Murphy offers. Bellamy waves him off.

“Get back to work, slacker. I’ll collect later.”

“Fair enough.”

He has to do last call when he gets back inside, and doesn’t get a chance to check his phone until just before close. When he does, he finds a string of texts from Bellamy:

_ She passed out before I could get her address. Do you know it? _

_ Wells and Raven aren’t replying. _

_ If you don’t answer this in the next minute, I’m taking her to my place. _

Murphy snorts and texts back,  _ Try not to get into another fight when she wakes up. I won’t be there to break it up this time. _

Bellamy texts back almost immediately with a picture of Clarke passed out on his couch, her arm dangling at a weird angle, her mouth wide open. 

_ I could take her, _ he’s captioned it. Murphy shakes his head. If he thinks that, he clearly doesn’t know Clarke very well. But if she sticks around and doesn't disappear again, Murphy thinks he’ll learn.

* * *

The next morning, Murphy heads over to Clarke’s favorite hangover breakfast spot. It’s got unlimited refills on coffee plus bacon that’s greasier than the auto shop where Raven works, and she’s dragged him there countless times after a night where one of them drank too much.

She, of course, is already there, a little glum but looking all-around better than she had the night before. Bellamy is sitting in the booth across from her, a teasing smile on his face that gives Murphy slight pause before nudging Clarke and sliding in beside her.

“Hey,” she says, smiling hopefully at him.

“Fancy running into you here.”

“Yeah, weird,” she says, ducking her head. He notices for the first time she’s got a t-shirt on that hangs too big on her-- one bearing the name of the high school where Bellamy teaches-- and files that bit of info away for later. “We good?”

He shrugs. “You done with the vanishing act?”

“Yeah.” She clears her throat. “I broke up with Lexa. A couple of weeks ago, actually. But I thought I needed time to myself to-- I don’t know. I couldn’t figure out how to just come back.”

Murphy reaches across to her plate and steals a piece of bacon. “Just come back.”

“Oh, why didn’t I think of that?” She says, her dry tone matching the eye roll that accompanies it.

“You know we wouldn’t hold it against you forever.”

“Yeah, but I thought you’d hold it against me longer than this. You’re letting me off the hook way easier than I anticipated,” she says, full-out amused now.

“Sounds like it’s already been pretty shitty for you. There’s no point in making you feel shittier.”

“Wow,” Bellamy muses. “That sounded all sincere and mature. I didn’t know you were capable of that.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“There’s the Murphy I know,” Clarke teases. Murphy gives them both the finger, but finds that his anger from the night before has dissipated. In fact, he realizes as they eat and talk and poke fun at each other endlessly, this is how he thinks it should feel. Clarke slotting back into his life effortlessly, accepting Bellamy as if she’d known him all along (and vice versa).

All is right with the world again. Well, this part of it, at least.

And if his gut instinct tells him something more is going on between his friends, new and old-- a little seed of  _ something _ that he ought to take note of-- he writes that off as a fluke. Whatever it is, it’s probably no big deal.

* * *

Or so he thinks.

Turns out, whatever is between Bellamy and Clarke is a  _ giant _ deal. So big they might as well have shouted it from the rooftops, written it across their faces, and announced it with skywriters and billboards and sign spinners and a blimp. Their deal can be seen from  _ space _ , he’s pretty sure.

It would be hard for them to be more obvious, what with the sickening way they light up when they see each other, the wordless glances they exchange at every little thing, the stomach-churning way the concept of personal space evaporates when they’re in the same room.

Clarke gravitates to his side at the bar, the two of them inevitably getting swept up in teasing each other, trading barbs under their breath when the whole group is in on the conversation. 

Blake isn’t great at keeping his hands off her, always tugging on her hair or slinging an arm around her waist, guiding her through a crowded room with a hand on her back, knocking her knee with his under the table. Murphy would know, since Bellamy has stepped on his foot before, in search of Clarke’s.

They’re clearly and completely head over heels for each other, but it’s different from what Murphy has seen of her past relationships. She’s comfortable with Bellamy in a way she wasn’t with Collins, at ease to be herself, confident that even when their opinions differ, they’ll be on the same side in the end. And she doesn’t disappear like she had with Lexa. If anything, Bellamy brings out the best in her. 

Which is not something Murphy  _ wants _ to notice, but he can’t not notice, when it’s shoved in his face. 

Jaha knows all of Clarke’s tells, Reyes is no fool, Gina has seen way too much as a bartender for anything to fly below her radar, and Little Blake doesn’t miss a thing when it comes to opportunities to rib her brother, so while Clarke and Bellamy are doing their silent communication thing, the rest of them are exchanging  _ can you believe this _ looks. 

Which is its own kind of nightmare. It’s always nice to have your opinions validated, but Murphy is starting to feel way too close to these people.

Case in point: he’s considering watching the  _ Oscars _ .

“Come on,” Octavia says, nudging him with her foot. “We’ll make a drinking game out of it. It’ll be fun.”

“Sip every time La La Land is nominated, shots every time it wins,” Raven adds. “We’ll be drunk within an hour.”

“Or we could just drink,” he points out. “And I could continue my streak of never watching the Oscars.”

“You could always cover my shift that night so I can go instead,” says Gina.

“Fine. I’ll be there. What time does it start?”

Raven holds her hand out to Gina for a first bump. “Red carpet coverage starts at seven. Bigger Blake? Griffin? You guys in?”

Clarke freezes, as if being caught with her feet in Bellamy’s lap, grinning at whatever inside joke they’ve got going on, is abnormal for her.

“Can’t,” she says, smiling to herself. “Sunday is my only free night this week and I’ve, uh-- I’ve got a date.”

Murphy pauses, everyone else’s expressions of mixed awkwardness and horror  _ priceless _ . Now it’s not just Clarke’s poor taste they have to worry about; it’s Bellamy’s feelings too. 

_ Feelings. _

Murphy wonders where he went wrong in life to get to this point.

“A date?” Octavia says sharply, a challenge in her tone. “With who?” 

Clarke’s eyes flick over to Bellamy and her cheeks turn pink.

“With  _ whom, _ ” Bellamy corrects her, at the same time that Murphy says, “With Bellamy.”

Everyone’s eyes snap to him, Blake the elder the most surprised of them all. “What?” He says, tonelessly. “Am I wrong?”

Clarke scowls. “No, but we were going to keep it on the down low--”

“Why start now?” He shoots back.

Raven snorts. “He has a point.”

“Shut up,” Clarke grumbles. Bellamy pokes her with a teasing smile on his face that makes Murphy regret basically everything. 

“I have been told I’m pretty unsubtle,” he says, and Clarke’s irritation turns to begrudging fondness.

“Hang on a second,” Octavia snaps, sitting up straighter and frowning at the two of them. “You were about to  _ lie _ to us, your friends and family who have watched you two dance around this--” she gestures at the two of them-- “for  _ months _ ? Nice. Real nice.”

“Just until after Sunday,” Bellamy says, rolling his eyes at his sister’s dramatics. Like she didn’t learn them from him in the first place.

“We were only trying to make sure this was-- what we thought it was,” Clarke offers weakly. 

“We all know what this is going to be, and you don't have anything to worry about,” Murphy says to Clarke, and everyone looks surprised again. He rolls his eyes. “Quit with the stares or I’ll have to start charging.”

“Who knew Murphy had a supportive bone in his body?” Wells says wonderingly, and Murphy shoots him a suggestive smile.

“If you curious about the bones in my body, all you have to do is ask, Jaha.”

Wells makes a face. “And he’s back.”

* * *

“Sorry, sorry,” Clarke says breathlessly, sliding into the booth across from him. Murphy shrugs.

“I ate some of your fries while I was waiting, so I figure we’re even.”

Clarke tries to glare at him, but ruins it with a smile she can’t keep off her face.

“I take it the date went well,” Murphy says dryly, and Clarke’s smile deepens, her cheeks rosy. 

“Extremely well.”

“You get some?”

The stain on her face grows even redder. “You want details? I’m not shy.”

“Ew.” He makes a face. “No. Point taken.”

“Good. Glad we understand each other.” She smirks, smug, but it turns soft again before long.

"What?" He prods.

"I don't know. I just... I think I got it right this time."

"Yeah," Murphy says, reaching over to steal another fry from her plate. She pulls a face but makes no move to stop him. "I think you did too."

* * *

Bellamy is the first to arrive at the bar that Friday, and Murphy pours him a beer before he even asks.

“Wow,” he says, raising his eyebrows suspiciously. “What did I do to deserve such service?”

“I’m lulling you into a false sense of security,” Murphy says, leaning on the bar. Blake chokes on his drink, which is supremely satisfying.

“Pro tip," he coughs. "That doesn’t work as well when you announce yourself.” 

Murphy passes him a towel, which he takes gratefully. “What’s this about?”

“Clarke.”

Bellamy pauses and looks up, his eyebrows even higher. “Is this where you tell me not to hurt her or you'll kick my ass? Because Raven already gave me this talk and she's a lot scarier than you are."

"I know," he smirks. "This is where I remind you that if you hurt Clarke,  _she'll_ kick your ass. But it's also the part where I remind you that she doesn't have the greatest dating track record. If you can do anything to prevent the two of you from fucking this up, I think we'd all appreciate it."

Bellamy squints at him. "I'm trying to decide if this is nice or just weird."

Murphy gives him a look. "Both, obviously."  


"Okay," he says slowly, then shrugs. "Will it make you feel better if I say I really, really want this to work out?"

He considers this. It makes him feel like he is in possession of way too much information about his friends' emotional states, but other than that-- "Yeah. That's good to hear."

"Great." Bellamy shudders. "Let's never talk about feelings again."

"You got it." He pauses. "But if you ever need help not fucking it up, you can come to me."

"Thanks, Murphy," Bellamy says, seemingly taken aback. Murphy nods and moves to the other end of the bar, leaving Bellamy and that awkward conversation behind. Hopefully forever.

By the time he's recovered enough to even look at Bellamy again, Clarke has shown up and is leaning into his side, fucking  _beaming_ as she tells some story or other to Raven. Bellamy has his arm around her waist, and his lovesick, puppy dog expression as he watches her speak is so sappy that Murphy can hardly stand it.

But he figures he can put up with it.

 

After all, that's what friends do.

 

 


End file.
